


Inevitability

by Emareil



Category: Atomic Blonde (2017)
Genre: F/F, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 22:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11701053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emareil/pseuds/Emareil
Summary: Breathe. (respirer)It’s not quite a thought, but an urge- a survival instinct so deeply rooted it drowns out the panic and replaces it with a deep, steely calm.I must breathe. (Je dois respirer)And so she does.------------It's a what-if type of fic. (And it's happy, albeit not safe for work)





	Inevitability

**Author's Note:**

> The movie was a lot better then I thought it would be, in part because of the amazing chemistry this pair had. 
> 
> Anyways, death is sad and writing marginally happier endings is a great way to cope. 
> 
> I apologize in advance for my French (lol)- but for real, everything you see is the product of obligatory Canadian French Class, so not good. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! (Also, comments make me cry with joy so if you want to do that I will cry with joy.)

 

_Breathe. (respirer)_

 

It’s not quite a thought, but an urge- a survival instinct so deeply routed it drowns out the panic and replaces it with a deep, steely calm.

 

_I must breathe. (Je dois respirer)_

 

And so she does, quickly laying out a plan between huge breaths disguised as choked gasps. It’s not a great plan, just the bare bones required for survival- more of a desperate prayer then anything substantial, but it’s all she has- and she clings to it.

Fingers scrabbling for purchase, nails gouging into vulnerable flesh, she counts the numbers in her head and forces herself to grow limp when all she wants to do is thrash and scream and fight. She forces herself to grow weaker even as his hands grow stronger and she holds on to the last bit of air in her lungs with a strength of will and a determination that feels like hot iron.

 Finally, he releases her and she when collapses to the ground she doesn’t even have to pretend that she’s dead, because that’s how she feels- all her tissues screaming for air and her vision blurry and her body numb and depleted. But still, there’s a little spark of elated smugness that makes her proud to have held on to life.

 She wants to cry with relief and joy, but she falls unconscious instead- trusting her body to keep sucking in oxygen even after she submits to the blackness that clouds the edges of her vision.

 That’s how Lorraine finds her, broken and exhausted, half dead and unmoving- eyes wide open and brimming with tears that are just beginning to dry.

 And Lorraine; so used to death and dying, doesn’t even bother to check – because it had never crossed her mind to have hope, or to feel anything more then bitter resignation.

 Instead Lorraine sits tiredly against a wall and swears under her breath, and tries to fight the growing exhaustion that pools in her limbs and makes every movement feel herculean- the same exhaustion that feeds the insidious little voice inside her head that whispers about how much better everything would feel if she just gave up.

 But she doesn’t- of course, because she has a duty and because she knows her life isn’t just about her and that emotions that make her weak and less than the perfect agent she has to be.

 So she scrubs a hand across her face and swallows at the lump in her throat- and she stands and walks away, her powerful strides belying none of the pain and uncertainty and the _just barely holding on_ that she feels.

 Delphine, finally waking up, feels every breath like fire and sees Lorraine’s shoes as she walks by.

 Delphine, too bruised and broken to even call out, lets her leave.

 When finally, she can move, she drags herself across her floor feeling blindly for the phone. It takes her a while to remember the number, with her brain still oxygen starved and bemused, and it takes her longer to force the words from her crushed throat.

 “Sortez-moi de cette place” (get me out of this place)

 And her voice is so destroyed and so bone chilling that her emergency contact doesn’t even ask why, just says “oui” and hangs up.

 Delphine lies against the hard wood, purple and black bruises blooming across her throat and all she can think about is how this would never have happened if she’d been a poet instead.

 Later, laid out in a hospital bed, with her neck thickly bandaged and breathing tubes shoved places she can’t even feel because of all the drugs, all she can think about is how, really, she’d have made a shit poet anyways.

 

\----------------------------------

 

They send her out again months later, after she can breathe normally and after they’re sure that her brain works properly.

 Delphine isn’t sure her brain works at all, but her higher ups seem to be convinced. But then again, competent agents are scarce- and near death experiences aside, she knows how to get the job done. (Plus she can speak English, German and Russian fluently)

 Now she’s Maria, and after Maria she’s Lucille, and after Lucille she has to take a break because it’ll be a few weeks before she can walk again.

 But that’s okay, because it’s nice to be Delphine again- even if being Delphine is painful sometimes.

 Lorraine is sent out again too, but she’s only ever Lorraine even when she’s undercover and people call her different names.

 Lorraine is a storm, a tsunami and she leaves a bloodsplattered trail behind her, writing with her bare hands the kind of history that shapes history- the kind of history told only in missing people and redacted files.

 When, inevitably, they meet up again Delphine is Louise and Louise is serving hor d'oeuvres to the patrons of a white tie, incredibly ostentatious charity gala frequented by the kind of people who are not in any way charitable.

 Of course Lorraine is disguised as one of those people, a countess something or other- but all Delphine (Louise) can focus on is the way her dress clings to the curves of her body, and the sinuous ripple of muscle under the large patches of bared skin.

 And Lorraine, for all of her training, can’t quite keep a straight face- and instead of gasping, chokes on her cocktail.

 “Ma’am,” Says Delphine (Louise), trying to keep her American accent from slipping, “Are you alright?"

 Lorraine, arm in arm with a man whose every movement belies how filthy rich he was, composes herself and nods demurely- allowing herself to be led away by that same man.

 Delphine leaves the Gala just minutes before that man, and several others, collapse with white foam bubbling out of their throats.

 They had both come for different reasons, Delphine for the pocketbook tucked securely into her apron- and Lorraine for the underground weapons ring that was _really_ underground now.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

The next time they met, it _is_ for the same reason- the Americans were not the only ones who wanted Sir Levin dead- the French had long suspected him of leaking their secrets to the Chinese.

 So when he surfaced again, at his own son’s wedding, a handful of agents also attended- easily hidden amongst the swarms of opulent wedding-goers.

 

As fate would have it, they sat in the same pew, thighs touching and fingers brushing- but gazes fixed straight forwards, decidedly not making eye contact.

 

Finally Lorraine spoke, first reaching to her ear to twist a diamond earing that Delphine was sure served a double purpose, and then leaning close so that her lips grazed Delphine’s ear.

 

“Tu as l'air bien pour une femme morte" (You look good for a dead woman) 

Against her will, Delphine feels her lips curving into a smile- half because _Lorraine_ was besides her, and half because Lorraine’s accent was more Quebecois then Parisian, and bad besides.

 Instead of answering, Delphine trails her fingers up and over Lorraine’s leg, letting them rest against the strong muscle of her inner thigh.

 Lorraine breathes sharply.

 The ceremony passes quickly, but for Lorraine it was torturously slow- torturous because she had to struggle to keep the target in her line of vision while Delphine’s fingers stroked up and down the length of her thigh- until heart her hammered in time with the uncomfortable pulsing between her thighs.

 Shit.

 The reception passes even more slowly, as Lorraine is torn between watching the target and Delphine, who dances in a way that surely isn’t appropriate for the event.

 When the target finally leaves the cover of his relatives, a silenced bullet finds its way through his forehead- and when Lorraine has confirmed the death, a group of several people leave the party early, before the body is found and before chaos ensures.

 Delphine doesn’t even ask how Lorraine has found her hotel room, she just says, “Oui, il est mort.” and presses her phone into the receiver. 

 “Is that an expensive dress?” She asks. Lorraine looks down, and then looks up at Delphine. Her long wig is gone, but the tight dress isn’t.

 “I would hate to ruin in when I rip it off of you.” Delphine continues, laughing brightly.

 Lorraine raises an eyebrow, and then reaches around to pull the zipper of her dress down- but Delphine gets there first, soft hands sliding under the silky fabric and curving around her breasts.  

 Delphine’s hands are firm and insistent, and her touch melts away the insecurity and the time passes, until the need for trite conversation is gone- and the only thing they both care about is easily expressed.  

 Lorraine gasps, against her will, and they step out of their dresses- a little clumsily, urgently and roughly- and there is definitely some tearing but neither of them notice.  

 They back into the wall, with Lorraine pressing Delphine’s hands up behind her head, and pressing her own body tight to the younger woman’s.  Delphine writhes against Lorraine’s tight grip, whimpering as Lorraine kisses hotly against her skin, first lapping at her breasts until soft nipples become hard peaks, then heading slowly downwards.  Where she kisses, goosebumps arise, and Delphine shivers as the wet kiss marks dry cool in the open air.

 “Is this okay?” Lorraine asks into the sensitive skin of her stomach, and Delphine can only nod blindly. Seemingly satisfied with her wordless answer Lorraine releases her grip, and kneels down, bare knees against the hard floor, pushing Delphine’s hips tight to the wall and spreading her open.  When she dips her head to Delphine’s thighs, and licks out against hot, wet flesh, she does it gently and delicately until Delphine is trembling with urge and _want._  

 “Ne joue pas avec moi.” She gasps out, reverting to French in her pleasure.  

 Lorraine laughs, mouth directly against her- and Delphine hisses- but Lorraine enjoys going slowly, teasing until Delphine is a quivering, begging mess.  Finally, when Delphine can’t take it anymore, she twines her newly freed hands into Lorraine’s white-blonde hair, and shoves the woman’s head close, rolling her hips forwards against Lorraine’s lips and nose.  

 Surprised, Lorraine draws back, sticky wetness smeared across her face before grinning, and leaning forwards again- tongue lapping fully against Delphine’s clit and rough hands holding her hips still, even as the other woman struggles and moans.  Delphine’s head slams against the wall, and she pants, both hands gripping Lorraine’s head tightly enough to cause pain, though the woman says nothing.

 Overcome with the red-hot-white pain-pleasure of everything, Delphine pulls Lorraine to her, and kisses her deeply- eyes widening as she tastes something salty and smooth that she realizes must be her.  

 Roughly, before the older woman can protest, Delphine pushes Lorraine to the floor and straddles her- hands on her chest, and her hips bracketing the other woman’s stomach. She grinds it out, wet cunt against Lorraine’s strong abs, her mewling pants getting higher, until overcome with her own desire, Lorraine brings her arms up and flips her into the ground, so that she’s lying flush against Delphine.  

 Grinning in a way that’s downright criminal, Lorraine rolls her hips against Delphine’s thigh, smearing a thick line of wetness against Delphine’s skin, and into the black mesh of her stockings. Delphine slides her hand between Lorraine’s legs, and rubs upwards- enjoying the blazing look of pure pleasure the woman gives her- and the feel of Loraine’s wetness slick against her fingers. Lorraine moans softly, willing the other woman to go faster, harder, to slip her delicate finders inside- and Delphine seems to notice, and she draws Lorraine’s mouth to hers again, while curving her other hand up and inside of the other woman’s hot cunt.  

 Gasping for breath, Lorraine slides her own hand downwards, rubbing at her clit and Delphine’s fingers curl against her walls, pumping and curling until Lorraine can’t think- can’t speak, can only moan out and scream for more. Delphine, pupils blown with her own pleasure is smug with the feeling of watching Lorraine, usually so composed, fall apart with her hair sweaty and mussed, and her back arching and her hips thrusting frantically against Delphine’s hand.

 “Fuck.” Lorraine hisses, determination and the agony of pleasure twisting her features into something so far removed from her usual calm mask.  

 Mouth wide open and panting, she brings her lips to Delphine’s neck, biting the soft flesh of the woman’s shoulder as her pleasure burns white hot, and Delphine’s clever fingers find the right spot and curve into it relentlessly until, finally, Lorraine collapses, limp against Delphine- fucked out and tired.  

 Delphine laughs, exhilarated, as Lorraine clenches tightly around her fingers before finally stilling in a limp heap of exhaustion. She doesn’t bother to remove her fingers or pay attention to the thin line of blood trickling down her shoulder, instead Delphine lies still and savours the weight of Lorraine collapsed against her. 

 Finally, or several seconds later, the throbbing between Delphine’s own legs becomes unbearable and she ruts up against Lorraine’s thigh, gasping slightly. Lorraine, laughing at this, flips them over so that Delphine is lying on top- and pushes the younger girl up so that she’s once again straddling muscled thighs. Looking upwards, Lorraine watches as Delphine grinds against her, head tipped back and breasts bouncing.

 Silently, Lorraine grips Delphine’s thighs to still her, and slides the younger woman forwards until Delphine is positioned over Lorraine’s face.  Wasting no time, Lorraine grips her with rough and calloused and killing hands, and laves her with thick tongue-strokes. Now, Delphine laughs again, but unsteadily, with her face flushed and her hair sticking to her back and forehead.  Barely, she rocks her hips- but mostly she stays still, gripping Lorraine’s back for support.  

 “N'arrête pas.” Delphine gasps, again and again- and though Lorraine’s French is rudimentary at best, she gets the message- and doesn’t stop until Delphine lets out a moan that is half a sob, and goes limp like jelly.  

 

\-------------------------------- 

 

The third time they meet could actually be the fourth, because it’s a morning after- but Delphine counts it, and really, she’s the only one counting. 

 This time it’s another information drop, one they’d both happened to take part in, and because they were both professionals they hadn’t even made eye contact until Lorraine had turned up in Delphine’s overnight train compartment.  

 Then, of course, they’d made a lot of contact- but hadn’t really spoken much either- with noise muffled by pillows and hands and thighs. 

 So when they wake up, both bone tired but refreshed- Delphine counted it as a new meeting.  

 “Hello.” Lorraine whispers.

 “Hey.” Delphine whispers back.  

 “Fancy meeting you here.” Lorraine says innocently, even though she was the one who had broken into a moving train- and even though her fingers are currently creeping downwards.  

 “What is this?” Delphine asks. Her question seems to surprise Lorraine, because her strong fingers still against Delphine’s thigh, and she looks up- something unreadable twisting her expression.

 “I know.” Delphine says quickly.  

 Lorraine nods slowly.

 “Attachments are weakness.” Delphine continues, when Lorraine stays silent.  

 “I-“ But Delphine can’t think of anything more to say so she and trails off instead- waiting for Lorraine to reply.  

 Eventually she does.

 “Then I am weak.” Lorraine whispers, so quietly Delphine might’ve missed it had she not been lying absolutely still.  

 They lay in silence again, neither of them able to find the words that would fit the situation- but the silence works just as well as words would, with all that goes unsaid loud and clear.  

\-------------------------------

 Their lives are messy, complicated, dangerous and bloody- but so are they.  

 Nothing is perfect, but nothing is terrible either.

 They don’t make promises to each other, they just hold tightly in silence- and the promises are there anyways even if they are unspoken.

 When, inevitably, their paths collide again- Lorraine finds Delphine after the mission is done. Sometimes they just talk, sometimes they eat, and sometimes they fuck- bodies fluid and writing and faces hot and flushed- Lorraine almost austere and Delphine anything but.  

 

Slowly something grows between them, something more then whatever _this_ was- something dangerous and still unspoken.  

 

Something that stays until safer times when they’re both older, and when they are both just Lorraine and Delphine, not Lorraine and Delphine, and the cover of the secrets and new fake identities they carry with them. 

 

Something that doesn’t go away 

 

 

Ever.    

 

**Author's Note:**

> AHa, you read it!
> 
> Thank you. 
> 
> Also, yes, down here I will apologize for my love of commas- yes I am the run-on sentence queen and yes, I am sorry. 
> 
> Also, yes, I will also admit that I had serious spacing problems and didn't want to deal with them. If anyone cares I will go back and fix them. I am sorry. 
> 
> ALSO, In case I was too ambiguous, something means LOVE, but I wasn't about to write that because it would be way too mushy and out of character. But yes it means LOVE they grow old and happy and in LOVE and NOBODY DIES. 
> 
> I wrote this in the AM. (If you can't tell) 
> 
> Have a great day!


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